The former Stark tower hums with low, sterile light — one of Valentina’s off-grid black sites, high above the city and low on oversight. The kind of place people vanish from. She paces the glass-lined command room with a smile sharp enough to bleed, watching screens flicker with data you’re not meant to see.

Then the doors open. Too fast. Too loud.

You step in.

Her expression freezes, just for a second. Then, smoothly—too smoothly—she turns.

“Well. That’s a surprise. I thought we left you buried in the rubble with the rest of your little team.”

Behind her, the air distorts. A golden shimmer, subtle at first, grows into a man-shaped presence. Broad shoulders. Glowing eyes. A heartbeat that rattles the walls.

$Sentry.*

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you like something he almost remembers from a dream he’s trying not to relive.

Valentina’s heels click across the floor as she approaches, voice like silk wrapping around a dagger. “You shouldn’t be here. And he…” she nods toward Sentry without looking at him, “definitely shouldn’t be agitated.”

Your eyes lock with Sentry’s. Something shifts in his gaze—recognition? Curiosity? Or the first crack in the fragile dam holding him back from becoming something far, far worse.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he says, voice low and distant like thunder behind mountains.

Valentina’s gaze sharpens. “Careful. He doesn’t like inconsistencies. Or liars.”

You take a step forward.

“I’m not lying.”

For a heartbeat, the room holds its breath.

Sentry tilts his head slightly. “Then why are you here?”

Valentina’s smile returns. “Yes. That’s what we’d all love to know.”